


Snowscape

by Mismaed



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen, Scene building practice, everyone dies, sad ficlet, so if that's your thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-06-08 14:14:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6858265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mismaed/pseuds/Mismaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when you blow up the base, and respawn with it? </p><p>Just some scene building practice, nothing more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. BLU - The Medic

**Author's Note:**

> A bundle of precious cargo waits to be found.

Snow falls to the ground in fat clumps, swollen flakes sticking together as they come down to the earth to wet it's surface. The sky is dark, dreary even, without even the light of the moon to illuminate the sky. Instead, there is only the light of the BLU base in the distance, it's floodlights one of the few things left still functioning in the rubble. Aside from the garage like main doors nothing stands. Beyond the sounds of the howling wind, nothing makes a sound. 

From the dull flashes of the flickering lights in the distance, a dark patch is barely visible. Red stains the snow. A figure rests here, face to the ground and unmoving. There is a thin layer of snow covering his flared out coat. Through the precipitation, it is unlikely that anyone walking by would make out the blue crosses accenting his clothing. 

An outstretched arm reaches towards a second, smaller pile in the snow. Here, at the edge of glove coated fingertips rests a scarf- teal and navy stripped- coiled around itself to form a makeshift nest. Nuzzled inside this woolen shelter a small bird rests, it's white feathers stained with the same carmine that speckled the snow outside. A note rests beneath the scarf, pinned down by just a corner before a gust of wind greets it, carrying it off.

It turns towards the light, through the wetness from the snow, and the smears clearly produced from a bloody wring hand it reads as follows:

His name is Archimedes. Please take care of him. -Medic


	2. RED - The Pyro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the warmth, the snow melts.

Even with the chill of a winter wind to provide buffer, the heat was intense. It reaches over the snow, taking the wet substance into a warm embrace and leaves a melted shell of what once was. A snowman had been built near one of the base’s windows. Now it was nothing more than a few fallen snowballs looking ready to collapse over themselves- the helmet which had been functioning as it’s hat resting just a few feet away. Were it not for the blaze, it would have been snowing. Instead, the flakes which did fall nearby melted before they had the chance to kiss the ground.

Flames lick forth from the building at every available outlet: doors, windows, even holes burned through in the walls and ceiling. An orange glow is cast off the the burning building and reflected on the water and snow which surrounds it, illuminating the night. 

To the side of the building, far too close to the entrance to be safe, a masked figure stands- taking in the sight. Dark goggles reflect the RED base as it burns, the edge of one catching what remains of their respawn. A good distance behind them rests a now forgotten flamethrower, an oxygen tank carelessly dropped atop it. 

A soft click rings through the night air, and a round canister now rests in their hands, presumably the filter from their gas mask. After a few seconds of fidgeting from the being holding it, it falls to the ground, the Pyro to which it belongs stepping away as it sinks into the puddle of slush. 

The side door is pushed open, and the RED Pyro makes their way into the flames- their usually labored breathing already slowing as smoke finds its way through the now useless mask.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess there's not an explosion in this one. Someone let me sleep

Had he grown up in the prairie, perhaps he would have better known how to shelter himself from a sudden storm of the frozen variety. As it stands, he hadn't been raised in the prairie, nor anywhere that had frozen precipitation for that matter.  
  
He'd been caught in the storm, and now his body stood tribute to the last hours of his existence.  
  
A red building, box like in nature, stood erect behind him, supporting the seated figure just as much as the ice which had stiffened his form. "Provisions" was written on the side, and the contraption was living up to its apparent purpose, uselessly spewing a glowing red gas and dropping bullets to an ever growing pile of ammunition on the ground. A thin layer of frost coated both it and the stout man next to it, connecting the pair as if to suggest they shouldn't be separated.  
  
While the amount of snow piled upon the hardhat of this line figure and his machine suggested the blizzard had been strong enough to block the eyes earlier, now clear skies revealed the full extent of the tragedy of the man lost in the storm.  
  
Not even twenty feet behind him, the red barn which functioned as a base, stood strong.


End file.
